


Green Eyes

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Banned Together Bingo 2020 [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Crimes & Criminals, Dead Body, Dead Dean Winchester, Dead John Winchester, Death, Eye Gouging, Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Murder, Mutilation, Past Child Abuse, Serial Killer Sam Winchester, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: It's time for Sam to make his annual trip to Lawrence, KS. Everything goes off without a hitch, but he just doesn't get that rush anymore.
Series: Banned Together Bingo 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916230
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Green Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Banned Together Bingo 2020 | FREE SPACE - Crime How-To
> 
> And that, my friends, is a blackout!
> 
> Now, the details in this are a window into the knowledge that got me banned from one of my professor's houses.

Sam was in a small town in Nevada when he decided to stop at a hardware store and do some shopping. He was on his annual road trip, and he thought it’d be good for him to pick up a few things, just in case. It was cold, so he had his hood up, even inside the store, and, feeling shy, he turned away from most of the security cameras.

Sam found everything he thought he needed to stock up on, paid in cash, thanked the cashier, and left with his belongings.

It was a few more hours till he hit Kansas, especially with a few stops on the way (once to put on snow treads since he was about to hit a lot of ice), but he made it to Lawrence just as the sun was setting. Hungry, Sam found a bar once he checked into a motel, one that was already hopping.

Inside he sat quietly and ate his burger, and fries, and drank his beer, watching the other patrons. Some of them were too rough and rowdy and they made Sam roll his eyes. They weren’t that pretty either. Now the women—gorgeous. But they weren’t what he was looking for. What Sam really wanted was a friend, but no one seemed his type.

_Of course not, stupid. Your brother was the bar type. You’re the hang-out-in-a-library-till-closing type._

Sam sighed, and picked at his fries.

_Dean did always say you were a nerd._

Still, he kept his hopes up as he finished his food, and then he had a few more drinks, played some pool. He started talking with a particular man who had seemed like the kind of person he’d like. It helped that he seemed drunk enough to be fun, but sober enough to not be a total, wasted idiot.

The man’s name was John. Funny coincidence, seeing as that was the name of Sam’s late father. He asked the man if he could settle for calling him J, and then they talked, and joked, and played pool together. Hell, one guy even tried messing with Sam, and J had him walking away with a broken nose.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” Sam asked. “Find some beer that doesn’t taste like piss? Maybe some girls?”

“You got a place where we can take ‘em?” J asked, seeming a little wary, but somewhat excited.

Sam held up his motel room key, fist closed around the little plastic rectangle that denoted the name of the motel.

J gave him a high five that turned into a strong hand grab. He grinned, face reddened. “Then hell yeah, man.”

Sam tilted his head to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He thanked the bartender on his way out, and then he went out into the cold with J. Sam put his hood up.

“So, strip club?” J asked.

“Nah,” Sam told him, as he walked them over to his car. “The girls there are violent. I don’t blame ‘em.”

“I think it’s hot.”

“I think men should leave them alone,” Sam told him, unlocking the car, and climbing into the driver’s seat.

J got in on the other side. “What, and you do?” he asked.

Sam tilted his head. “Mostly.”

“Fine, then what were you thinking?”

“Another bar?”

J shrugged. “You know the way?”

“My family used to live here. We moved when I was still just a baby, but I come out here a lot to visit my Uncle Bobby. Oh, and I hope it’s okay if we stop at the motel first. I have to grab a few things.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

Sam parked out front, and then paused to put his hair up. It would be much too annoying if it started getting in his face now. Then, making sure no one was around, Sam held a gloved hand to J’s nose, wrapped a hand around his neck, and covered his mouth. He hugged J to him, keeping him from struggling much, and then he passed out. Sam let him slump on him because that was better than having him land against part of the car and cause a ruckus.

After repositioning him (poor J, he’d had too much to drink), Sam changed into latex gloves, and tied plastic shopping bags he’d had in the glove compartment over his feet, needing to carefully use two for each foot, and then keeping them closed with tape.

Thankfully Sam had set everything up earlier. It was getting late. He’d cleared the space, laid out the plastic… everything was good to go. The motel was even fully packed, and another patron would be leaving early in the morning, just like him (what a coincidence), so everything checked out.

It was too late for anyone to notice that he was out, and this was what he did every year, so he didn’t feel any anxiety as he got out of the car, went around to the other side, and eased J over one of his shoulders.

Sam’s knees buckled slightly. God, the man was heavy. He did fit Sam’s type though—at least six feet tall, muscular. Of course he was heavy.

He took J into his motel room and then set to work. He checked again that his hair was tied tightly and kept up under his hood, and then he got out the duct tape. It was hard working with duct tape with the gloves on, but Sam was practiced at this after years of doing it. He taped J’s ankles together, and then taped his wrists behind his back. Lastly, he put the silvery-gray duct tape over his mouth.

Sam kicked J awake.

Immediately the man started struggling, panicked green eyes swiveling, taking in all he could see before landing on Sam, who was now crouched before him.

“Hey.”

J’s eyes widened, and he started screaming. Luckily the sound could barely be heard.

Sam reached behind himself and grabbed his special serrated knife with the wooden handle from the waistband of his jeans. He rubbed his thumb over the pentagram carved right at the edge of the hilt.

“I like you, J,” Sam said, “which is actually why you’re here.”

J didn’t seem to be taking this in, too panicked.

Why did they never want to let him talk these days? Sam wasn’t trying to be rude. He did need a friend, just not permanently. Besides, they couldn’t stick around, not when they had short brown hair that could have been blond in early childhood, apple green eyes, and chiseled features. He saw Dean in all of them, and well, Dean he’d had to take care of. He’d wanted to leave him. Hadn’t wanted to go with Sam to college.

Yes, college had been Sam’s choice, but Dean had raised him. Why hadn’t the selfish bastard realized Sam would need him?

So he made sure Dean couldn’t leave him, and then when their father, John, started getting suspicious, Sam had no problem taking a knife to him too. That work wasn’t fun like it was with Dean. Just a necessity. But the son of a bitch had had it coming. He’d abused him since he could walk.

So here Sam was, finding comfort in J’s terrified presence. He liked seeing these men beneath him, liked looking into their green eyes and seeing their imperfections. 

They weren’t Dean. None of them could be, and sometimes, Sam thought that’s what he was searching for.

J wasn’t giving him much fun, had just started hyperventilating as much as his body could with his mouth forced shut, snot was leaking out onto the duct tape. Bored, Sam killed him. Usually, he didn’t like to kill them right away. He liked to cut out their eyes first, but god, he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. What was wrong with him? Had he not worked hard enough on finding his friend?

Feeling a strange darkness inside at his newfound lack of feeling, Sam just set straight to work, cutting out J’s eyes; he kept the blood off his clothes. He’d mail the eyes to the police station, and with what was basically a non-address, it couldn’t lead back to him. Sam would even write with his non-dominant hand. That’s what he’d done to check in, and under the fake name of Sylvester Campbell. He’d gotten good at writing with his left hand, good enough that it looked natural, but different from his actual handwriting.

Finding himself upset at his boredom with this project (where was the thrill? The high? Any of it?), he finished up quickly. He let the eyes sit on the floor, weird, bloody lumps, as he wrote out the correct address on a manilla folder. It just so happened to be one of those ones with bubble wrap on the inside, so the eyes would be somewhat protected.

He put them in, then wrapped J up in the plastic, taping up the seams after folding them over and over on themselves. He picked up the body, placed it in the trunk, took care of the rest of his things, and then got in the car. He didn’t take the bags off his feet yet, but he had changed back into his winter gloves earlier, leaving the latex ones with J’s body.

He stopped at a mailbox, deposited the envelope, and then drove around a bit. The roads were looking better, so he stopped over by the bar again, and took the treads off the tires. Besides, the treads had done their job of confusing the tire tracks. Now no one would be looking for the type of car Sam had.

He was off, and he didn’t stop driving till morning. On the way back north, he’d left the body in the dumpster outside a diner, and for now, his trip was complete. 

Sam sat in the car outside his cabin in Montana a few days later, wondering if he should go on another trip. Maybe then he’d feel that high he so desperately craved.

Sam just sighed, shook his head, and turned off Dean’s Led Zeppelin tape, not letting “Ramble On” even finish. Maybe another trip wouldn’t even fix this. Still, it was time to start planning his next one. Sam wasn’t ready to give up the moniker Green Eyes just yet.

Looking for satisfaction, Sam took out his phone, and checked the Lawrence news. And there he was: Green Eyes. He smiled. Okay, so it was still worth it. Just a little bit.


End file.
